


Grease and Nails

by ballpoint



Category: Avengers, Marvel 3490, Marvel 616, Marvel Comics - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballpoint/pseuds/ballpoint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha loves being a grease monkey to the detriment of her manicure. Hilda has conniptions, Pepper refuses to call Natasha by her first name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grease and Nails

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/gifts).



> Characters are the property of Marvel comics, no profit is being made from this fanwork.

"The game plan is this, Ms. Stark, the meeting with the shareholders has been rescheduled for three tomorrow. Your dress and shoes will be here by twelve today for the reception hosted by _The Future Foundation_ tonight at the Baxter Building. Pick up at 8:00." Pepper's fingers danced over the LCD keys of the tablet in her hand, her voice washing over Natasha in waves, as Natasha studied the plans for a new architectural wonder. Stark Tower, if she got the all clear for plans, she'd call it the Stark Tower.

"Oh, and manucurist at three."

"Manucur- ?" Natasha lifted her head from her plans. "What are you talking about? My nails are fine."

Pepper strolled over, cool and collected in a suit the colour of a flawless Granny Smith apple. She lifted one of Natasha's hands gingerly, between her middle finger and thumb and _judged_. "These aren't hands, but paws."

Natasha folded her fingers into loose fists. Her nails short, unevenly shaped, the coral varnish now chipped away, hanging on to the beds of her nails in fragments. Her fingertips subtly shaped by callouses.

"They do what they need to do."

"Not for schmoozing at this level, they don't. Exhibit A, a line of grease under your nails."

Natasha splayed her fingers, taking a closer look. "Huh. Imagine that. There is."

"Manucurist at three." Pepper repeated, as she picked across the carpet in those sky scraper heels she favoured, and Natasha wondered how her PA didn't suffer from vertigo. "If you disappear, I'll find you. Don't let me have to look for you, Ms Stark."

"One day," Natasha challenged as she played with the heavy weight of the Mont Blanc pen in her hands, a smile flirting at her lips. "You'll have to call me Natasha."

"If you can last an entire evening with your manicure intact, perhaps." Pepper raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Until then, good day, Ms Stark."

***

 

"Tsk, Ms Stark, your nails. Whatever happened to the wraps we put on last week, with the tasteful coral polish?"

"I had a race in Monte Carlo, and some engines to tweak. C'mon, Hilda, stop busting my chops, I already have Pepper keeping me on the straight and narrow. You're supposed to be on my side, remember?"

"If you dropped by the shop, I might feel more favourably towards you, I admit," Hilda applied cotton wool soaked with nail varnish remover to Natasha's little finger, focusing on dissolving the bits of polish from the nail plate. "It would be lovely to see you doing the things that women in your position should do, as well as doing the things you do."

"Pepper won't risk me going out for a nail appointment. She thinks I'd never make it to your shop."

"Ms Potts is right. You'd be half way to Maui trying to catch the first surf of _their_ day. Tut," Hilda tittered with impatience. "Look at your nails, the line of grease, along the nail beds. Ms Stark, if one didn't know better, one would think you were working on engines."

Natasha tried not to squirm under Hilda's gaze. The only reason why she never made a fuss (okay, not much) because Hilda's ministrations were pleasant. From the firm hand massage of bone rubbing against skin, to warm soapy water, there was something delightfully _tactile_ about the whole experience.

"I hear you have a function tonight. You're in black, with red highlights. So, for nails, shall we go vamp or neutral?"

"Vamp," Natasha decided. Thought for a minute and asked, "And how do you know the colour of my dress?"

***

 

"Natasha, how wonderful to see you."

"Sue," Natasha leaned forward, held Sue Richard's elbows for leverage as kissed the air beside her cheeks as one did. "It's so great to see you. How on earth did you make the others agree to throw open your home like this?"

 

"I have my ways, I really do," Sue hummed while they stepped into the elevator. As soon as the doors clicked shut, the car shot towards the sky like a sleek bullet, covering floors and distance. "Thank you for lending us your face and name to this venture."

"The Future Foundation's science camp for inner city and at risk students? I'm all over it. I can't imagine that I'd be here if it weren't for science." Absently Natasha tapped at her chest, her arc reactor still humming. Sue stopped, admiring the high, almost monkish neckline of the column shaped dress, with the low sweep of the back.

"I know, Reed feels the same way." Sue tucked her hand into Natasha's. The doors clicked open, and they were on the roof terrace, the view of New York dazzling, clusters of lights everywhere, the dark shape of the Hudson carved into the outline of lights.

"Also, Reed's asked if you can drop by his lab. I've told him that that's fine, but Ms Potts has asked that you put in a minimum of two hours time schmoozing at the actual party itself."

"Of course." Natasha nodded, looking at her fingers. Surviving this evening with a bunch of society people with manicure intact? Piece of cake.

***

 

"I'm glad that you came, Natasha."

"Reed," Natasha grinned, because next to her lab, she loved Reed's. The clean, clear white space of it, the sleek machines, and its neatness. Whenever she worked, controlled chaos was the order of her day, but to the untrained eye, it was still chaos. With Reed not the same. For instance, on the table in front of them, an engine. Small, about the size and shape of a classic alarm clock, with various shapes of tools laid alongside it. Its parts, perfectly formed, a precious jewel.

"Oh my, what is this?"

"A working patent to keep the wolves away." Reed said, almost dismissively. "A smaller plane engine."

"Gorgeous," Natasha breathed, as she walked around it, the subtle thunk of her heels echoing on the floor. Her blood warmed, grew hot at the possibilities. "An engine that small, with the power of the original?"

"Lighter, smaller, more efficient. I'd have to try and tweak the horsepower and physics, but it's doable."

"But?"

"I'll leave that to you to find out."

Natasha couldn't help it, she smiled, and if the press saw her right now, all bright eyed, her face transformed by excitement, they'd think she'd fallen in love.

"Oh, Reed. It would be an _honour_."

Reed held up a tin of grease. "My special blend of lubricant. It slashes friction by ninety nine percent, makes the parts last up to five times longer."

Natasha took the tin, and dipped her fore and middle fingers in, the viscous liquid slicking her digits, seeping under her nails, and she almost closed her eyes against the sensation.

***

 

At eight thirty the next morning, Hilda opened the door to her establishment, wondering what the frantic knocks were for, only for her eyes to pop at the person in her doorway.

"Natasha ? Ms Stark... is that _you_?"

Natasha held up her hands, her nails told the tale. The nail plates of her polish slashed and peeled off in bits, globs of grease under her nails, her fingers grubby, her hands scratched.

"Your manicure." With trembling hands, Hilda clasped Natasha's hand in her own, whimpered in distress. "My _art_. Oh, Ms Stark. If it's that important to you..."

"I have an emergency. If Pepper sees these, she'll never call me by my first name."

"The UV should have set the tips, short of judgement day, your manicure shouldn't have had a nick for _three weeks_. It was _flawless_."

"Hilda," Natasha snapped her fingers. " _Focus_. I need your help."

"All right, I'll set up, we have an hour before we open up. That might be enough time. Barely."

"You're the best." Natasha beamed, "I'm also here. At your shop."

"There's that," Hilda sighed, as she patted Natasha's hands. "Now, come along into the back. Miracles are about to be wrought."

 

End


End file.
